


Messes Are Meant To Be Cleaned

by xRedNightx



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Implied Sansa Stark/Ellaria Sand, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26069344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xRedNightx/pseuds/xRedNightx
Summary: Sansa enjoys the company of the Prince of Dorne and his gifts of Dornish fruits, though she makes a bit of a mess in her enjoyment.
Relationships: Oberyn Martell/Sansa Stark
Kudos: 34





	Messes Are Meant To Be Cleaned

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of an idea with my girlfriend where we had Petyr not a creep and Sansa doted on by him, Oberyn, and Ellaria. This is a one-shot somewhere in that established dynamic.

Pale cheeks flushed gently as sticky juice rolled down fingers and a slim wrist. She was peeking up into dark brown eyes that glittered gently as they watched her cradle the plump, dripping fruit she'd just taken a bite of, sweetness filling her mouth. 

"You enjoy it." The man lounged in the window upon soft pillows, a cheek pressed to the knuckles of a loosely curled fist. 

"It's very sweet." She nodded gently, loose waves of bright red and copper spilling over shoulders. 

"The fruits of Dorne are wonderful in flavor, no?" When she nodded again, she heard the light rustle of fabric and she raised eyes to see him moving toward her, his movements agile, lean muscle working beneath the lithe limbs that slowly filled her vision, "I am pleased you enjoy my gift, Lady Sansa." His deep roll of words washed over her like the waves of salt water over bare toes when she would sneak out of the castle to the edge of the sea. 

"Y-yes." She was entranced by his movements as fingers, long and tinged light bronze, removed the bitten fruit from her hands and dropped it into the bowl from which she'd taken it. 

"But, it seems you have made a mess." Thick digits curled around her forearm, his golden skin a contrast to her milky pale, and a ruby flush deepened when a soft tongue dragged over the sticky trails running from fingers. 

"P-Prince--" She choked out breathlessly but a hand settled on her thigh gently as he bent over her where she sat in the chair near the window, the curve of his back stretching taut the fine material of his coat. A shiver ran through her at the slow glide of a slick muscle, memories flooding her of where else she had felt that tongue, and she couldn't bring herself to pull away, even knowing that her handmaiden could return or Cersei could send for her and she would be in deep trouble. Her eyelids fluttered shut, long lashes brushing the high cheekbones she'd inherited from House Tully. 

"Now, now, Sansa..." His breath was hot against the skin of her inner wrist and she heard the gentle, chastising click of a tongue, "Such a messy girl." The warmth of a mouth wrapped around her forefinger and her eyes flew open, muscles tensing when she found a darkened gaze resting on her, half hidden behind thick lashes, and she was gasping lightly at the swipe of a tongue along the length of her finger. His hand slid from her thigh to her hip, the thin material of her dress catching on the rough calluses on hands, teasing her with light touches as her forefinger was released only for a mouth to lavish attention on the finger beside it. By the time he released her last finger, she was panting, darkened blue eyes nearly closed as she sank into the feeling of his hand cradling her hip, his fingers pressing into her skin and for a moment, she thought he might be finished. But, he curled a hand around her elbow and she was pulled to her feet, guided back to where he had been lounging on the wide surface before the large window. 

"Prince..." She tried again to speak, but words died in her throat when he was easing back where he had laid before and she was resting her back against a firm, warm chest, her body flush to his as she gripped knees lightly where they lay on either side of her, "Please..." She turned her head, her flushed cheek scraping against fabric, "What if someone saw you come here?" She couldn't explain why she was scared, not for her own life, but for his, for Ellaria's. He'd come so close to death in his match with the Mountain, she had seen how tightly Ellaria had held him and she swore she had seen her shaking. 

"You worry far too much." He dismissed her words easily and it should have upset her, it really should have, but when large hands skimmed over the flatness of her belly, a nose nuzzling long tresses of auburn, she couldn't stop her muscles from relaxing against him. Those hands were always so deft, so skilled, and she tried to contain the small noises that slipped from lips when his hands would graze hips or over her ribs, "Loosen your dress for me, Sansa." His voice reached her ears but she couldn't fully comprehend what he'd said until finger were curling around the fabric that flowed around legs, dragging it up to reveal more creamy flesh until warm hands grazed bare skin. She struggled to loosen the top, always cinched so tightly in the back that she often had trouble breathing and wondered how it was that her ribs did not crack. After a few moments of frustration, fingers moved from her thighs, never once breaking contact with her body, and the bodice was tugged down sharply, just enough to restrict her arms with the sleeves and bare her small, rounded breasts, rosy pink nipples peaking instantly, "Your body responds to me so magnificently." He marveled under his breath, hands cupping breasts, fingertips pressing into soft flesh and she thought of the marks he'd left there before. 

"Prince--" 

"No, little Sansa." His voice was firmer, warm breath skimming her ear, and she shivered at the sharp tone in a voice, "My name." Her head sagged against a shoulder as teeth grazed the lobe of her ear, shudders tearing through limbs. 

"Ah..." She breathed out, rough thumbs grazing slowly over nipples, eliciting sharp gasps and arches of a back, "Oberyn..." Before the final syllable had even slipped from her lips, nipples were trapped between thumbs and forefingers, tugged and squeezed lightly until her spine bowed, hands fisted at sides, and fire coursed through her veins and then man continued to overwhelm her senses with leisurely touches. She wasn't sure when her legs had been spread, draped of his, and she could feel the tensing of muscles in thighs as fingers teased nipples until they were swollen, engorged with blood, and even the gentlest of brushes made her jerk. 

"I can see why Lord Baelish favors you, lovely little Lady." A voice was rough in her ear and legs shifted until her hips tilted up slightly and hands could roam freely over the insides of thighs, "I can smell your cunt. You are soaked, I am sure. It is a shame..." His voice trailed off when hands strayed higher, until she was gripping arms tightly for grounding, "My beautiful Ellaria would take a life to be between your thighs at this very moment." She was sure her eyes had rolled back into her head as fingers simply continued to graze thighs, careful along the outsides where stripes from the thin switch rested from her "training to become a true Lady" at the request of Joffrey and the Queen Regent. The switch was used when her form was anything less than perfect, strikes meant to straighten hips. When the Prince and his paramour had seen the marks, she'd seen something in eyes, something dark and terrifying, and the usually lax posture of Lord Baelish had stiffened. She was torn from thoughts when hands were again on sensitive breasts, fingers flicking over nipples until she was writhing against a chest, squirming restlessly, and she had to bite harshly down on her lip to contain any noises that threatened to slip and give them away, "When night arrives, we will await your visit. I do miss listening to the sounds you make and I am certain Lord Baelish does as well." She let a sharp moan slip before she bit it back when she remembered the way eyes had watched her when she had hesitantly entered his room for the second time, the first time being when she'd been told to ask him permission for the Prince from Dorne and his seductive paramour to take her into their bed before the man himself took her into his. 

He had watched her approach, her hair wild, icy blue eyes wide and cheeks flushed deep as she had drawn closer. His hands were gentle, as Oberyn's had been, but his had an entirely different feel, a different weight to them, as he had eased her into his bed and he'd opened her with soft hands and softer words until she was nothing but pliant beneath him and his touch deepened, gained a roughness that sent her soaring when he gripped her throat with a firmness that held her where he wanted her but did not hurt her and she had watched him with wide eyes as his lips parted to release low groans as he had slid inside of her, darkening her heated flush when he commented about finding her still slick, both from her own wetness and the Prince's thick seed that had filled her. She'd returned to her bed just before the sun had risen filled by two men with the taste of a woman on her tongue, her body littered with too many marks to count but thankfully not too many to hide. When fingers again glided over her sensitive inner thighs, straying closer and closer to wetness, she didn't know whether to lift hips for more or shy away but it seemed that the Prince made the decision for her as he was bending knees to press feet flat to pillows, lifting and spreading legs further until she was completely open, the fabric of her dress pooling around her hips. 

"Gods...Oberyn...I can't..." She panted harshly, fingers scrambling to find something to hold onto until she settled on digging fingers into the muscle working in arms, "I...I need..." She wasn't sure how to end her sentence, what it was exactly that she needed, and she was turning her head, burying her face in the fabric of a sleeve to muffle gasps and light moans that rose from her throat when fingers grazed slick lips and she was releasing a muffled squeak of embarrassment at how wet she was from simple touches. She didn't have time to speak again as a thick finger plunged into her, swirled deep and grazed spots in her that had her hips rocking. The finger slipped all the way out, leaving her wanting, needing more, but she sighed in contentment when arms wound tightly around her. 

"You are not permitted release, Sansa. You'll continue the day hungering for cock and fingers until you come crawling to the brothel begging for the need between your thighs to be fulfilled." She was gasping desperately at words, wanting to beg then, to plead for him not to torture her, but she was nodding with a frantic rush of words. 

"Yes, yes, Oberyn..." Her voice was faint, weak from the thrum of pleasure that filled her, "I'll do as you say...I swear..." a hand cupped her jaw and craned her neck around, thumb stroking affectionately over her heated cheek before lips sealed over hers, a tongue tracing the seam before she opened her mouth and tasted the faint sweetness from the juice of the fruit he'd cleaned from her hands. 

"That pleases me, Sansa." The moment he was gone from her sight, she wished to follow, to slip away with him to the brothel where Ellaria and Petyr were, away from the horrors of the castle. But knowing they waited for her, wanted her, made the agony with which she'd lived for so long bearable for the first time since her father's death. She fixed her dress quickly and rushed to the table, pouring cool water into a bowl to pat the soothing chill over flushed features and calm the frantic racing of her heart, the excitement pooling in her belly in anticipation for the night to come.


End file.
